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Authors: Lois Lowry
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seriously, that the other kids in our neighborhood would get sick of him, and they'd go off to play their own games."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the tree house, for example. After it was
builtâand he took a long time to build it, and wouldn't let anyone helpâhe did invite a group of neighborhood children to climb up. And me, too. It was the first time I'd been in his tree house. We were all thrilled, of course, because it was truly the most spectacular tree house we'd ever seen. But then Claude started explaining the
rules
of the tree-houseâ"
"That's okay. I can understand about having rules, especially if you built it all by yourself."
"Yes, but Claude had created one of his worlds up there in that tree. He had made it into a kingdomâI remember he even called it that: kingdom. He was the king, of course."
"That's fair," I said. I could sympathize with that, the need to be king if you had invented the kingdom.
"But more than that. He had made up a language, and we were to speak only that language when we were in the tree house kingdom. And there was a set of complicated laws. Rules about the kind of food you could eat and particular sorts of clothes that people in the kingdom were to wear. I seem to remember that he had even created a special religion for this kingdom, with songs and prayers, all in this strange language that he had spent hours concocting."
"I think that's a great idea!"
She smiled. "It would have been. But Claude took it all so seriously. It was one of his fantasies that grew out of proportion, so that it became too
real, at least to him. The kids got bored. The language was too complicated, and he said we couldn't come into the tree house until we learned it. Everybody just gave up."
"Even you?"
"Well, I stuck with it longer than the others. So for a while, it was just he and I in the tree house, speaking this odd language to each other. But after a while, I got bored with it, too. For me it was a game, I guess. And for Claude it really was a whole world; it seemed quite real to him, and important, and he forgot that it was all just a pretend thing. I think he kept it up for a year or so, all by himself. He was about Marcus's age, then."
Something occurred to me. "Do you remember any of the language?"
She shook her head.
I pulled out the sheet of notebook paper that I had been writing on and showed it to her.
L
YA
U
TEBYA
L
Y
U
"I'm still trying to figure this out," I explained. "Could it be from his tree house language?"
"I don't think so, Louise," Mother said, examining the words. "I don't remember the language, but I remember the sound of it. It wasn't like this."
"Well," I sighed, "I keep rearranging it, but it doesn't make any sense."
She smiled. "You know what your father would say? That Claude himself doesn't make any sense. And maybe that's true. But you know, Louise, there was always something very special about Claude. It's hard to explain. Often the other kids called him a liar, especially when he insisted that his made-up world was real. But I never thought that his fantasies were liesâthey were more a magical kind of thing. When you're with Claudeâand this was true even when we were childrenâthe most everyday things seem, well, charmed."
Charmed. I liked her choice of words. It was true.
"I wonder where he is now," she said suddenly, and went to the window again, to peer through the torrents of rain that were slapping the side of our house now in punishing sheets. "He takes off like that, with no idea where he's going, heading for the most obscure places, justâ" She shrugged.
I finished the sentence for her. "Just passing through."
She laughed. "Finish your homework, Louise," she said. "It's almost nine o'clock."
When she had gone, Marcus came into my room, grinning. "I have a surprise," he said. "I've been working on it ever since supper."
"You were supposed to be doing your homework," I told him, feeling as I said it that I
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the tree house, for example. After it was
builtâand he took a long time to build it, and wouldn't let anyone helpâhe did invite a group of neighborhood children to climb up. And me, too. It was the first time I'd been in his tree house. We were all thrilled, of course, because it was truly the most spectacular tree house we'd ever seen. But then Claude started explaining the
rules
of the tree-houseâ"
"That's okay. I can understand about having rules, especially if you built it all by yourself."
"Yes, but Claude had created one of his worlds up there in that tree. He had made it into a kingdomâI remember he even called it that: kingdom. He was the king, of course."
"That's fair," I said. I could sympathize with that, the need to be king if you had invented the kingdom.
"But more than that. He had made up a language, and we were to speak only that language when we were in the tree house kingdom. And there was a set of complicated laws. Rules about the kind of food you could eat and particular sorts of clothes that people in the kingdom were to wear. I seem to remember that he had even created a special religion for this kingdom, with songs and prayers, all in this strange language that he had spent hours concocting."
"I think that's a great idea!"
She smiled. "It would have been. But Claude took it all so seriously. It was one of his fantasies that grew out of proportion, so that it became too
real, at least to him. The kids got bored. The language was too complicated, and he said we couldn't come into the tree house until we learned it. Everybody just gave up."
"Even you?"
"Well, I stuck with it longer than the others. So for a while, it was just he and I in the tree house, speaking this odd language to each other. But after a while, I got bored with it, too. For me it was a game, I guess. And for Claude it really was a whole world; it seemed quite real to him, and important, and he forgot that it was all just a pretend thing. I think he kept it up for a year or so, all by himself. He was about Marcus's age, then."
Something occurred to me. "Do you remember any of the language?"
She shook her head.
I pulled out the sheet of notebook paper that I had been writing on and showed it to her.
L
YA
U
TEBYA
L
Y
U
"I'm still trying to figure this out," I explained. "Could it be from his tree house language?"
"I don't think so, Louise," Mother said, examining the words. "I don't remember the language, but I remember the sound of it. It wasn't like this."
"Well," I sighed, "I keep rearranging it, but it doesn't make any sense."
She smiled. "You know what your father would say? That Claude himself doesn't make any sense. And maybe that's true. But you know, Louise, there was always something very special about Claude. It's hard to explain. Often the other kids called him a liar, especially when he insisted that his made-up world was real. But I never thought that his fantasies were liesâthey were more a magical kind of thing. When you're with Claudeâand this was true even when we were childrenâthe most everyday things seem, well, charmed."
Charmed. I liked her choice of words. It was true.
"I wonder where he is now," she said suddenly, and went to the window again, to peer through the torrents of rain that were slapping the side of our house now in punishing sheets. "He takes off like that, with no idea where he's going, heading for the most obscure places, justâ" She shrugged.
I finished the sentence for her. "Just passing through."
She laughed. "Finish your homework, Louise," she said. "It's almost nine o'clock."
When she had gone, Marcus came into my room, grinning. "I have a surprise," he said. "I've been working on it ever since supper."
"You were supposed to be doing your homework," I told him, feeling as I said it that I
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